


the stars choose their lovers, save my soul

by brittyelaine



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angry Castiel (Supernatural), Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Castiel (Supernatural), Canon Compliant, Drunk Dean Winchester, Episode Related, Episode Tag, Episode: s13e14 Good Intentions, First Kiss, First Time, Love Confessions, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-26 16:27:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13861614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brittyelaine/pseuds/brittyelaine
Summary: The confession settles around them, and Cas is quiet for a moment.  Bracing his weight on one hand, he presses the other to Dean’s chest.  Settled above his heart.  “I’m stronger than I’ve been in a long time.  I have to do what needs to be done, but you don’t need to worry about me.”  He sighs, dropping his forehead against Dean’s.  “Dean… I’m here.  I just need you to let me all the way in.”





	the stars choose their lovers, save my soul

**Author's Note:**

> I loved this episode, and I loved that Cas is standing up to Dean. I also felt the conversation was left unfinished, so here we are.
> 
> Title from "The Other Side" by Ruelle.
> 
> Come hang out with me on [Tumblr](http://brittywritesstuff.tumblr.com)!

Sam went to bed hours ago, but Dean’s still buzzing. Still worked up. Still a lot of things. He should go to bed, he knows, but there’s no way he’s sleeping right now. Not like this. 

He’s downing the neck of his fourth beer when Cas finds him. His door’s ajar, and he knows Cas can hear a lot better than humans, so he’s heard Dean rustling around; heard the clinking of the empties on the desk. 

“It’s late,” Cas says with no preamble as he steps into the room, closing the door behind himself. “You should be resting.”

Dean’s smug as he leans back in his chair, the ancient thing creaking with the movement and the weight of its occupant. “Oh, so now we’re playing concerned guardian angel?” Dean watches the muscle working in Cas’s jaw, and feels his own do the same. He’s tipsy and pissed -- never a good combination with a Winchester. 

“Dean…” The chair is relieved when Dean sits upright. Cas stands up straighter and squares his shoulders in defiance. “There’s no need to be like that—“

Dean scoffs and stands, grabbing the edge of his desk for support. A few swigs of the last of the fifth of whiskey in his bottom drawer had served as the appetizer for his beer. He’s feeling it now. “There is a need, Cas. You deliberately went against—“

“I did what I had to when no one else would!” Cas shrugs off his jacket, and it takes Dean a second to recover. That’s an unfair fight. He shakes his head and forces himself to focus. “You can malign the casualties of those along the way, but I have seen battle, Dean. I have seen the long, destructive, bloody battles — both mortal and angelic.” He sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. Dean swallows, ready to punch back when Cas speaks again. 

“You are a good man, Dean. But being a good man isn’t what wins a war. It’s the difficult choices that have to be made in the heat of it. The stomach-turning ones that seem horrendous no matter how you skew it.”

“Cas, you turned the guy into a friggin’ vegetable!” He’s got tunnel vision, and he can’t seem to let it go. Sure, Dean’s done things he’s not proud of. But this… there had to have been a better way. Isn’t that what Sam’s always going on about? _A better way._ One without killing or maiming. Dean’s had his share of that; enough to last a lifetime or twelve. 

“Would you rather Sam? Or me?” Cas’s voice is rising, and Dean swears the lights flicker. Cas steps in close, his gaze unwavering. Dean’s heart is hammering in his chest, and he presses a hand to it like that’s going to calm it. “Someone has to make the difficult decisions, Dean. And had I not done so, he would have killed Sam. And you. Maybe even me.” He huffs, and Dean watches his eyes drag over Dean’s face. “What’s it to you, though? Death is just _temporary,_ right? Mine meant little to you in the grand scheme of things.”

Dean’s seeing red now, and he shoves at Cas’s chest in a rage. “Fuck you, Cas. You’re kidding me with this, right?” His voice is gruff with alcohol and exhaustion, and louder than necessary. But fuck it. How dare Cas say these things to him? 

Cas growls and grabs a fistful of Dean’s shirt, shoving him back against the door. His head slams back against the wood, and he can already feel the ache setting in. “Everything I did; everything I’ve ever done was for you. For you, and for Sam. For the people I love. I have been beaten, bruised, bloodied, and broken. I have killed my brothers and sisters for you. I have _died_ for you. You should show me some respect.”

Dean shoves Cas back, stubborn tears welling in his eyes. “You think I don’t respect you, Cas?”

“You show me very little, and I’m sick of it. All I do for you and your brother, and this is how I’m treated. You belittle me. You doubt me. You give me orders. Do you wonder, perhaps, why I take it upon myself to do things like that? Why I make snap decisions without consulting you? Because,” he moves in close again, backing Dean up against the door. Dean can feel his breath on his face. The warmth of his body. “Regardless of whether you think of me as a ‘baby in a trench coat,’” his voice is low and full of gravel, and Dean can’t think straight, “I am an angel of the lord. Though I may love you, I do not answer to you.”

Dean blinks. _Though I may love you._ “Love me?” He shakes his head, trying to shake off the haze of alcohol.

Cas’s eyes roam his face before meeting his gaze again, and Dean could swear it’s going to burn right through him. “Don’t insult me by pretending you don’t know.”

The line between Dean’s brow grows deeper. “Cas, I—“

“I’ve given everything for you, Dean. To you. And for what? To be insulted. Rejected. Heartbroken.” He shoves himself off with a huff, looking like he’s made up his mind about something. And the finality of it terrifies Dean. So much so that he’s reaching out as Cas steps back. “I would take a page from your book and call you a son of a bitch, but I won’t insult your mother.” 

Dean clenches his jaw, but chooses to ignore the dig. Maybe he’s learning. This is what Cas wants of him, right? Taking the high road. It’s a good comeback, and he makes a mental note to revisit it. If Cas doesn’t kill him first. “Cas, please.” Cas watches him, waiting expectantly. Dean hesitates, a little too long for Cas’s liking and he’s making to move Dean out of the way of the door. “I’m sorry!” It comes out louder and more forceful than Dean intends, but it’s there. Heavy and soaked in fear, it settles between them, and neither speak. Their gaze is unwavering. 

It’s Cas who breaks first -- his kiss is hard, painful, desperate, and heated. Dean’s back slams against the door, and he’s grabbing at fistfuls of Cas’s hair, groaning at the taste of Cas’s tongue against his. He doesn’t let himself second-guess or think to much. He just lets Cas have this. He lets himself have it. “I’m tired of you playing this game, Dean,” he says as they part, Dean gasping for air. “I’m tired of giving myself to you and getting nothing in return. It ends now. You make your choice. Here and now.”

Dean blinks, and stubborn tears spill over as he meets Cas’s eyes. Time and time again, Dean’s endured weeks -- _months_ \-- without Cas. Each and every time feels so final. So devastating. Each and every time, it feels worse. Harder to deal with. He can’t, he decides. He can’t do that again. Never again. He needs to swallow his pride. If he doesn’t, he’s losing Cas for good. He’s losing Cas by choice, and that’s not something he can stomach. So, with a gust of resolve, he grabs Cas’s face between both hands and draws him in. “I don’t wanna know the other side of a world without you, Cas. Not again.” 

He doesn’t wait for a response. Instead, he kisses him with a bruising intensity and works his hands under that suit jacket to push it from Cas’s shoulders. It falls unceremoniously to the floor, and it’s kicked aside as Dean edges him toward the bed. That blue tie follows, and his fingers are shaking as they work at the buttons of Cas’s shirt. He gets it open and almost gasps. He’s seen Cas shirtless before, but somehow it’s different. So close, with the liberty to touch him, it makes him that much more… beautiful. The expanse of tan skin across firm muscle… it’s almost too much, and they haven’t even begun.

Cas gets Dean’s t-shirt over his head, and his hands smooth down Dean’s back. Dean watches those blue eyes drink him in, and he smirks -- feeling cocky from the drinks and the effect he has on Cas. He can’t help it. Sinking to the edge of the bed, Cas pulls Dean in by the waist, and his fingers bury in the angel’s mess of dark hair. Dropping his head, he presses a kiss there and breathes in deep. Breathes in Cas. He smells so good. Earthy, clean. Like the smell of trees on the wind on a warm spring day. It’s his favorite smell, Dean decides. And he never wants to forget it. “I’m sorry, Cas,” he murmurs. The angel’s fingers are warm and firm as the drag over his skin, popping the button of his jeans; working the zipper down. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

Dropping his head back to look up at Dean, Cas’s eyes are dark; his face serious. “You should be,” he says firmly. He leans forward, pressing a kiss to Dean’s hipbone as he pushes the jeans down his thighs. His hands grip the back of them, sliding up to his ass, and upward as he stands. They’re face to face, and Cas grabs him, turning to shove him back on the bed. Dean barely has time to shimmy out of his jeans. Cas discards his shirt, and Dean stares up at him in amazement. In awe. In _love._

Cas crawls over him, capturing his lips in another searing kiss, and Dean’s grasping at him, desperate to stake any claim he can in Cas’s skin. “Please don’t leave me again, Cas,” he breathes as they part, Cas’s lips pressing to his jaw, his neck, the juncture of his shoulder. “I can’t--” emotion wells in his throat, and he swallows it, closing his eyes to start again. “I can’t take it. I need you.”

“Don’t you mean we?” Cas huffs, kissing across Dean’s collarbone to show the other side of his neck the same attention.

“No, Cas.” Dean grabs his face and lifts it, meeting his eyes in the dim, orange light of the lamp on his nightstand. “ _I_ need you. I’ve been too fucking scared to say it. To say it out loud. But I can’t do any of this without you. And I--” Those fucking tears are back, and he turns his head away to compose himself. “I remember the downward spiral when I had the Mark of Cain. That darkness I felt every time I hurt someone. Killed someone. And I saw what you did to him, and--and--and I got scared, Cas. Scared I was gonna lose you. Like I lost myself.”

The confession settles around them, and Cas is quiet for a moment. Bracing his weight on one hand, he presses the other to Dean’s chest. Settled above his heart. “I’m stronger than I’ve been in a long time. I have to do what needs to be done, but you don’t need to worry about me.” He sighs, dropping his forehead against Dean’s. “Dean… I’m here. I just need you to let me all the way in.”

Closing his eyes for a moment, tears slip down his temples. “Fuck,” Dean whispers. Swiping at the tears, he pulls Cas in, their lips crashing together. Shifting, he flips them over and haphazardly works a hand between them to get Cas’s pants open. He’s still tipsy and sloppy but he doesn’t care. He’s got Cas. He’s kissing Cas. He’s got his hands on Cas, and he’s going to take all he can get. He’s harder than he’s ever been, the thinks, and aching to be freed from his boxer briefs, but he focuses on Cas. On his need to make it up to him. Dean’s never been good at words or apologies, but sex… sex he could do; even in this new territory. 

When Cas lifts his hips to allow Dean to pull his pants down, his thigh brushes Dean’s cock, and he hisses at the friction. He rolls his own hips, chasing the sensation, groaning when he finds it. And he finds he’s desperate for more. He hears Cas’s shoes hit the floor, and after a moment of shimmying and shifting, they’re equally unclothed. “Fuck, Cas,” he says, breathless. His tongue swipes Cas’s bottom lip and his hand closes around them both. They groan, the sound drowning on each other’s lips, their tongues sliding together. 

Cas bucks up into Dean’s hand and Dean honest-to-god whimpers. He strokes them hard and fast, and Cas’s fingers dig into his skin. They slip down his back, gripping Dean’s ass to pull him closer. The movement provides more delicious friction. Cas moans, and Dean wants to hear it again. Dean loves that it’s all for him. That _he_ elicited that sound from him. “Dean,” Cas breathes against the shell of his ear. 

Dean falls over the edge first with a cry of Cas’s name against the angel’s shoulder. Cas follows soon after, and the lights flicker. He collapses on top of Cas, breathing heavy against his neck as he extracts his hand from between them. Cas’s arms wrap around him, and he feels emotion well in his throat again. “Forgive me yet?” he murmurs.

Cas’s lips press against the side of his head, and Dean breathes in deep. “It’s a start.” 

Pushing himself up on his hand, Dean cradles Cas’s jaw with the other. “Cas,” he whispers, shaking his head. “I mean it. I meant it. Without you… I don’t wanna do it. I can’t do it. Any of this.” 

“Then you have to--”

“Let you in. I know.” Dean nods emphatically. Leaning in, he kisses Cas -- gentle and languid, the haze of booze wearing off. “I’m gonna do everything I can. I want you. I need you -- yes, I.” He sighs, pulling back enough to look at Cas, his thumb brushing over his cheek. He decides he likes feeling the roughness of the stubble against his skin. 

Cas nods, his fingers brushing Dean’s spine. “You need to accept that sometimes decisions will be made that you don’t like. We can’t keep doing this. We can’t keep fighting this same battle.”

“I know. I know.” Dean licks his lips and swallows hard. “Whatever it takes.” He kisses Cas again and rolls to his side, his hand curved firmly around the hinge of Cas’s jaw. “Stay,” he whispers as he closes his eyes, finally feeling the exhaustion -- the adrenaline and the alcohol wearing off. “Please.”

Cas’s hand is soothing on his arm, and Dean is just barely clinging to the edge of consciousness. “Sleep,” he whispers, and Dean’s happy to oblige. “I’m not going anywhere.”

**Author's Note:**

> Been a long time since I've attempted smut. Yikes, I'm rusty.
> 
> Written at the behest of my dear friend [Allie](http://deanmonsandangels.tumblr.com). She also provided me with Cas's line about Dean's mother. She's the best.


End file.
